


What Are Monsters Afraid Of?

by beef_wonder3



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Mary is a badass, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-02
Updated: 2009-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:21:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25814227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beef_wonder3/pseuds/beef_wonder3
Summary: “It was a monster! There’s a monster in here!” Dean cried.
Relationships: John Winchester/Mary Winchester
Kudos: 2





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2009

Mary wanted pie. Or possibly cake.

Yeah, cake sounded good. Mary was certain there was still some cake leftover form Dean’s birthday party the previous week.

She ferreted through the fridge looking for her snack as the silence of the late January night seeped through the warm house. Mary made a triumphant noise in the back of her throat when she found the cling-wrap covered treat and then made her way back to the couch just as B’witched came back from commercial break.

She didn’t know why she watched it, it was a ridiculous show, as if witches were ever that nice.

The cake didn’t last long. Food never did lately around Mary; she’d been packing away more food than Dean.

Which was saying something; Mary’s little boy could EAT.

She idly rubbed her protruding belly.

An uneasy chill settled around Mary unexpectedly, so she wrapped the blanket she had wrapped around herself tighter and peeked out the window. She listened intently for the sound of the Impala’s engine and felt even more uneasy when all she heard was silence.

John had stayed late at the garage to finish a job on a difficult engine, no doubt grumbling to himself about German engineering. Mary didn’t like him to be out so late at night, where she couldn’t protect him. The best she could do was keep Dean safe and pray John made it home, untouched by evil.

Unable to shake off the tingles of fear on her neck, Mary rubbed her belly again in comfort. Sammy kicked at her hand.

People were always surprised to learn John and Mary had already decided on a name, especially in the earlier stages of her pregnancy. What people didn’t know was that Mary & John had chosen names long before even Dean had been born.

Only a few months after their wedding, hidden under the sheets in their own private hideaway, they had whispered tales of their children to each other.

Little boys with Mary’s hair and John’s stubborn streak; Little girls with John’s eyes and Mary’s smile.

“What about names?” Mary had asked.

“I was thinking,” John had whispered back, “How about after your parents?”

Mary had kissed him and whispered,

“Thank you.”

That’s when they’d decided, no matter if their kids were boys or girls. Whether Sammy would be Samuel or Samantha remained to be seen. But it wouldn’t matter, because Sammy would be a Winchester and that’s all that was important.

Sammy kicked again as Mary ignored the TV flashing in front of her, lost in her own musings.

Dean was just as excited about the baby as John was; which was a great turn around from before, when Dean had asked if they could get a puppy instead. Thankfully John had talked him into the idea of being a big brother.

Mary frowned as her uneasiness still hadn’t faded. Just to be sure, Mary got up and checked all the doors and windows on the ground level, checking each protective ward as she went. All locked tight.

Mary pushed down the urge to go for a gun. She had a number of them in secret hideaways around the house. Not so much hidden from grabby, four-year-old hands, but more from the eyes of sweet, trusting husbands.

Just as Mary, still on alert, moved toward the couch again, an ear shattering shriek sounded from upstairs,

“MOMMY!!!!!”

Mary reacted instantly, taking the stairs two at a time, hand on her heavy belly, adrenaline pushing her hard.

“Dean!” she called as she burst through his door, flicking on the light.

Mary’s eyes darted around, assessing for immediate threats. When nothing appeared, Mary rushed over to the lump quivering under the duvet. Wrapping her arms around the lump, Mary coddled him, whispering,

“Shhhh, it’s okay now baby. Mommy’s here, it’s alright. Mommy’s here now.”

Dean wiggled his head out and launched himself into Mary’s embrace,

“It was a monster! There’s a monster in here!” Dean cried.

Mary’s blood ran cold.

“Okay.” She murmured into his baby-soft hair as her eyes scanned the room again. She knew far too much to pass what Dean saw off as a nightmare.

“Do you want me to check to see if it’s gone?” she asked him and he nodded vigorously into her chest.

Mary stood up, first going over to the closet. Nothing in there but little jackets and pants and Batman sneakers, all neatly arranged.

She checked the window next, doing a whole perimeter check of Dean’s room. Mary almost wished she had gotten that gun.

Dean watery eyes followed her movements as Mary knelt next to the bed to look underneath. Not finding anything, Mary knelt up, catching the eye of a little brown thing scurrying up the opposite wall.

The thing froze for a second, caught, before scuttling quickly into the air vent. Mary’s eyes snapped back to Dean, who had been so intent on watching Mary, he’d failed to see the brown creature that had crawled up his bedroom wall.

Deans’ eyes were still wide and scared as he hugged his knees to his chest. A wave of hot fury rolled through Mary’s chest. How _DARE_ that creature frighten her baby like that? And what the hell had its intentions been, being in Deans’ room?

Mary sat up on the bed next to Dean, hugging his little body close to her again. Well, she knew what it looked like now. She would identify it and kill it. Plain and simple.

But not tonight; tonight she couldn’t be a hunter, not when Dean needed her.

“Hey Deano,” Mary coaxed softly, “It’s okay now. The monster’s gone.”

Dean wiped a hand across his face, smearing tears and snot over his cheek as he asked,

“How do you know?”

Mary tilted his chin up and kissed his forehead,

“Because, all monsters are afraid of mommies.”

“Monsters are afraid of mommies.” Dean repeated, than asked, “Are they afraid of daddies too?”

“Absolutely.” Mary affirmed seriously, “That’s why if you ever see a monster again, you call for Mommy just like you did tonight, okay?”

“’kay.” Dean sniffled.

“Do you think you can sleep now?” Mary asked him, not really wanting to be away from him.

Dean shook his head,

“I’m sorry Mommy, I didn’t mean to.”

Mary fiddle with the sheets tangled around him and realized what he was apologising for. The sheets were wet.

“It’s okay honey, accidents happen sometimes.” Mary said reassuringly, “How ‘bout you come and sleep with Daddy and I tonight?”

Dean, tiredness starting to kick back in, could only nod.

Mary bit her lip, thinking for a moment. She had to get him cleaned up but didn’t want to leave him alone with that thing God knows where in the house.

“Ok.” Mary said, deciding on a course of action. “Let’s get cleaned up and then we can get some sleep.”

Dean climbed out of bed as Mary nabbed a clean pair of pajamas out of the drawer. Stripping the sheets off the bed, Mary ushered Dean out the door and into the bathroom. Mary dumped the soiled sheets by the door and turned on the bath taps. While the tub filled with some water and bubbles, Mary helped Dean out of his wet pajamas and into the bath.

10 minuets later, Dean was clean and dry in his fresh pajamas. Mary picked him up, his little arms curling around her neck and she carried the dirty laundry downstairs.

Dean was silent, quite possible still scared as Mary filled the washing machine, but didn’t turn it on and went about her nightly routine.

Lights off, TV silent, Mary carried Dean back up the stairs and into the master bedroom. Feeling a degree of safety now, Mary let Dean crawl into the bed, messing up the neat bedspread.

Making sure Dean wasn’t looking; Mary slid a gun, from a hiding place near the bed, under her pillow. Just in case.

Quickly changing into her nightdress, Mary slid under the covers on her side of the bed.

Dean immediately snuggled his tiny body into her side. Mary dropped a kiss onto the top of his head and turned out the light. 


	2. Part 2

After a few minuets of darkness, Dean piped up,

“When’s Dad coming home?”

“Soon.” Mary murmured, still very alert, “He’ll be home soon.”

Holding Dean close to her, Mary rubbed one hand over Dean’s back and one hand over her belly.

Mary remembered the feeling tonight’s events had reawakened. The fear was familiar. It was the same fear she’d had when Dean was a newborn.

When they had first brought Dean home from the hospital, in his tiny, fuzzy blue blanket, Mary had been terrified that a changeling would crawl in the window and steal her precious, defenceless little boy.

For 2 weeks she’d sat by his crib, watching him sleep, listening to him breathe. John thought it had been new-mother jitters. There was no way Mary could’ve explained the paralysing fear gripping her. But she hadn’t needed to. Even when he didn’t understand, John still understood her.

On the 5th night he’d woken to find Mary in Dean’s nursery, he’d kissed her temple and told her to wake him for his shift. She never did wake him but she’d been able to relax a little, knowing he had her back.

A beautiful sound broke Mary out of her memories as the gutsy roar of the Impala tore up the street, pulling into their driveway. Mary’s heart fluttered in relief.

John was okay.

He’d be here soon and everything would be alright when she had both her boys with her, where she could protect them, keep them safe.

John’s heavy work boots clomped up the stairs, even as he tried to be quiet, and into the bedroom. Mary could tell John was trying to be quiet as he opened the bedroom door, slowly.

Mary had to stifle a giggle at the incredibly startled look on John’s face as Dean jumped up, shouting,

“Daddy!”

John jerked in surprise, accidentally slamming the door closed before he broke into a wide grin.

“Hey Dude. Gave me a good scarin’ there.” You staying with us tonight? Keeping Mommy safe, eh?”

Dean shook his head, all bright eyes and cheer, earlier terror seemingly forgotten.

“Nuh-uh.” He said to John, “Mommy’s keeping me safe from the monster.”

John quickly changed into his own sleep-wear and slipped into the bed on the other side, greeting Mary with a kiss before asking,

“Monster? Hope it’s gone now?”

Mary smiled at John’s amused, indulgent tone;

He’ll never know.

Dean nodded,

“Yep. Mommy scared it away! Because monsters are afraid of mommies and daddies.”

John smiled at his son indulgently again and ruffled his hair.

Looking over at Mary, he commented,

“Sounds like you two had an eventful night.”

“Heart-stopping adventure.” Mary replied wryly, sharing the joke with him as he grinned warmly back.

They’d always agreed that adventurous lives were overrated. Since John came back from the war and since Mary’s… childhood, they both found solace in the mundane.

“Okay,” Mary wrapped up the conversation, “it’s time for all good boys to be asleep.”

Both Dean and John replied with a cheeky chorus,

“Yes Ma’am!” and settled down.

A little more content now, Mary rested as well, only slight worry about the thing in her house; Mary let the silence lull them all. Until Dean whispered,

“Mommy? Daddy?”

Eyes opening, Mary looked down at Dean nestled between them.

“Yes, honey?” Mary asked, as John hummed curiously.

“Are monsters afraid of Big Brothers?” Dean asked in a very small voice.

Mary looked at John and he smiled at them both, answering Dean’s question for her,

“Of course they are buddy. To monsters, Big Brothers are the scariest of all.”

“Good,” came Dean’s reply after a moment. “Then I can scare the monsters away from Sammy.”

The conviction in Dean’s voice completely melted Mary’s heart. She had to fight back tears as she hugged Dean fiercely. Stupid hormones. She felt John’s arm curl over them, his hand coming to rest on her belly.

“Well then.” John whispered to Mary and Dean, “Sammy is very lucky to have an extra special brave big brother.” He kissed the top of Dean’s head as Dean affirmed,

“Damn straight.”

John and Mary’s shocked eyes locked over their son’s head,

“Dean,” John admonished, “You know you shouldn’t say that word.”

“But Mommy says it.” Dean defended.

A guilty flush spread over Mary’s cheeks as John raised his eyebrows at her.

“Well, Mommy shouldn’t say it either.” John said, grin firmly on his face.

Mary fussed with the covers and diverted,

“How about we just get some sleep?”

“Kay.” Dean said, once again burrowing down between his parents.

Still grinning at Mary, John said, leaning over to kiss her,

“Ok, goodnight. Potty-mouth.” Scowling good-naturedly, swatting his shoulder, Mary couldn’t help but smile back sheepishly, as they settled back down.

Mary stayed awake, listening to John and Dean drift off, her fingers stroking John’s hand where it rested on her belly. Mary couldn’t stop the smile when Sammy kicked again.

*

The next morning after breakfast, Mary all but pushed John and Dean out the door for their weekly trip to the park. John under instructions not to come home with anything less than a completely exhausted Dean. The more tired he was, the less likely Dean would fuss when nap-time came.

Alone in the house, well… almost alone, Mary snuck up to the attic, pushed aside boxes until she found the old, weathered, chained & padlocked trunk she had been looking for. Inside had been at least a hundred different things Mary didn’t want John to ever see.

Wickedly curved knives, 2 small pistols and a sawn-off shotgun; Dozens of books on the occult and mythological creatures; a rare, unedited version of an 11th century Bible and, what Mary had been searching for, her father’s journals. Samuel Campbell’s journals were a treasure trove of creatures, demons and otherworldly things.

Mary took a moment to miss her parents, a moment for regret before she pushed the welling emotions aside. She was on a hunt; the only emotions Mary needed were anger and determination.

Mary searched through the journals, leafing through page after page of her father’s tidy scrawl, entries here and there in her mother’s soft cursive.

Mary halted on a picture. It was the creature she’d seen last night. Her eyes jumped to the accompanying passage her father had written.

_ Classified as a ‘fairy’ the Brownie is a small (often ugly) creature that infests homes. English folklore portrays the Brownie as a fairy that aids in housework duties and becomes offended if those duties are done by humans. Though, Brownies would accept a bowl of milk or cream as payment or treat. _

_ Actual Brownies do not aid housework duties but they do have an obsession with neatness and order. Once it chooses a home to infest, brownies will arrange things and rooms in a structured order that they prefer. _

__

_ This by itself is harmless but if a human interferes with the Brownies new order (i.e rearranges things again or crates a mess) the Brownie will attack, mauling it’s victims with sharp teeth and extended claws, to eviscerate the human and consume their internal organs and soft tissues. _

__

_ The presence of a Brownie is only detectable by actual sightings of the creature or if rooms or cupboards are seemingly rearranged without the home-owners knowledge. However, this method of detecting a Brownie can be skewed by the work of mischievous pranksters. _

__

_ Brownies prefer to squat in quiet, dark places, often found in cellars and horse stables and they can be lured out, as the folklore suggests, with a bowl of cream or milk. There is no specialty to exterminating a Brownie. However they move very quickly and due to their small size, are able to fit into tight spaces. Although I’ve found the bastards aren’t so quick with a bullet blown through them. _

Mary put the journal aside and checked to make sure her gun was loaded. It was definitely the creature she saw last night, but just for confirmation, Mary re-entered Dean’s room, gun in hand.

Most of the room was as she usually left it; neat and tidy and not much for a Brownie to clean up. Mary cautiously edged her way to the large wooden toy-box John had built for Dean. Lifting the lid Mary’s determination doubled.

Instead of finding the usual mess of playthings made by a four-year-old learning to put his toys away, she found G. I. Joe and friends standing side by side, at attention like the soldiers they represented, tiny race-cars neatly arranged in row upon row and building blocks and Lego stacked upon each other in big, even squares. Mary let the toy-box lid drop and stood up straight.

It looked like she had a Brownie to kill.

The only place within the house that was dark as a Brownie needed was the basement; Mary took a small bowl of milk with her as she went down, set it on the floor and waited.

45 twitchy minutes later, Mary decided it wasn’t in the basement and moved on.

Rugging up in a scarf and a coat that was quickly becoming too small; Mary took the bowl of milk and trudged through the cold slush to the small tool shed in the backyard.

Mary slipped in the small door and was greeted with the sight of every single one of Johns’ tools neatly arranged in its proper place. Something her husband would never do.

Bingo.

Mary carefully set the bowl down and stepped to the side. Hopefully out of the Brownies’ sightline.

It only took a few minuets before the ugly, little thing crawled to the bowl. Mary had it in her sight, gun cocked, ready to fire. But Mary hesitated; it was so small and wasn’t even expecting an attack.

Just then, the cold January light caught on the Brownies sharp claws and an image flashed through her mind; those deadly claws slashing out at Dean when he went to play with his toys.

Mary’s finger pulled. Once. Twice. And it was done.

The Brownie squealed once and flailed before it stopped moving at all.

Mary’s earlier hesitation completely gone, cool rage and protectiveness steadying her. Mary busied herself with disposing the things body. Hiding it in the bottom of a metal barrel they used for burning dead twigs and leaves.

She covered it with tree-debris to hide it completely. All evidence would be burned away the next day when John did his Sunday yard clean-up.

Job done, Mary breathed a sigh of relief and stroked her belly.

By the time John and Dean, bundled in wool and mittens, clomped through the door, Mary was wrapped in a blanket, on the couch again.

Her parents things and her memories and past pushed into the dark recesses of the attic once again, gun stashed in its hidey-hole and cookies baking in the oven.

The Winchester home was safe once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Archiving fic from my lj days.

**Author's Note:**

> Archiving fic from my lj days.


End file.
